


sugar

by ghosthunter



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, an au where shitty trades never happened, andre has two sugar daddies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 13:39:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11898900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghosthunter/pseuds/ghosthunter
Summary: Nicke’s almost ready to leave, his jacket still off, his tie around his neck. “He’s fucking with you,” Nicke says quietly, coming to stand next to Andre as he ties his own tie. “And you looked at his ass when he walked away.”





	sugar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunshinexbomb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinexbomb/gifts).



> for sunshinexbomb as a treat in the all caps exchange. there were four prompts for this pairing and i uhhhh something bad happened and now we're all here, aren't we? anyway this hits 3/4 of them, congratulations, you created a monster.
> 
> beta by lanie who puts up with a lot of fanfic for people she doesn't care about showing up in her inbox.

“Did you pick somewhere to go for dinner?”

Andre looks up from where he’s fussing with his tie to meet Nicke’s eyes. Nicke’s just out of the showers, his towel still slung low around his hips. He had a good game, it’s still early, and the next day is an off day. Nicke is in a good mood.

Andre grins at him. “Yeah,” he says. “I found this place not too far from the hotel that’s supposed to be really good. We should be able to walk?”

“Sounds good,” Nicke says. He turns to his own stall to dress.

“What did you do to your tie?” Marcus asks. He’s frowning as he looks at Andre, standing halfway across the room in front of his own stall, halfway through buttoning his shirt.

“Tied it?” Andre says, though now there’s a note of unsurety in his voice. Nicke huffs a laugh at both of them.

“I mean, if you want to call it that,” Marcus says. Andre looks down at the knot he’s tied but not yet tightened, and then back up at Marcus.

“It’s fine,” he says. A couple of steps puts Marcus in Andre’s space, and he unties it and re-ties it. Andre can’t tell the difference, but Nicke makes a noise of approval somewhere nearby. Marcus’s fingers brush across Andre’s chin as he tightens the knot, warm, and Andre swallows.

“It was not,” Marcus tells him, “fine. Now it’s fine.”

He heads back to his stall to finish dressing. Nicke’s almost ready to leave, his jacket still off, his tie around his neck. “He’s fucking with you,” Nicke says quietly, coming to stand next to Andre as he ties his own tie. “And you looked at his ass when he walked away.”

Andre blushes to the tops of his ears. Fuck both of them, honestly.

They take time at the hotel to change out of game day suits and into more casual clothes before heading out to dinner. This is their routine now, for nights off. Andre finds somewhere he wants to go for dinner - then Nicke and Marcus take him there, just the three of them.

It’s Nicke’s turn to get dinner, and there’s a bar across the street that seems chill enough that they cross for a couple of drinks, coats pulled tight and hats pulled down. The bar is dark, half empty on a mid-week night, and it’s easy to get a round of drinks - then a second round of drinks.

West coast hockey is on the screen behind the bar, and Andre leans against Nicke while they wait for Marcus to come back from the bar with more drinks. Nicke stretches his arm across the back of Andre’s stool, all critique for the skaters on the screen. Marcus returns with drinks and takes the seat next to Andre, bumping their knees together.

By the time the game ends, Andre has a pretty good buzz and they’re ready to head back to the hotel. It’s a short walk, but it feels like it’s gotten even colder outside. Even though the walk is short, Andre starts to shiver. By contrast, the hotel lobby is immediately too warm, and one of the guys in the hotel bar calls Nicke’s name as they walk toward the elevators.

Nicke peels away from them and heads into the bar, but Andre and Marcus keep walking, heading for the elevators and upstairs. Andre checks his messages while they wait for the elevator, but jumps and yelps, dodging away when Marcus rests cold fingers against the back of his neck.

“Kids,” Nicke calls, having gotten away from the bar and heading toward them. Marcus laughs and Andre rubs the back of his neck, chasing away the feeling of the cold. They hold the elevator door for Nicke as he half-jogs to catch up to them.

They all pile into Nicke’s hotel room, shedding coats and hats on the chair by the desk. Andre sprawls out on one of the beds, kicking his shoes off and pulling up the group chat to scroll through.

“Come on,” Nicke says, reaching out and taking Andre’s phone from him before he can protest.

“I wanna say that what I was reading was really interesting, but it was mostly emoji,” Andre tells him, tilting his head and looking up at Nicke, smiling. Marcus flops down on the bed next to him, his weight half on top of Andre. Andre grunts in protest.

“Oops,” Marcus says, very insincere. Nicke laughs. Andre twists to glare at Marcus, trying to shove him off the bed, but Marcus is ready for Andre, and he will not be moved.

“Nicke,” Andre whines. Nicke puts Andre’s phone down on the nightstand, then puts his own down beside it.

“Don’t be a brat,” Nicke says, sitting down on the edge of the other bed. Andre wrinkles up his nose and makes a face at him, but Nicke isn’t looking at Andre as he unties his shoes.

Marcus shifts and reaches out, wrapping his fingers around Andre’s wrist, bringing Andre’s attention back to him. He manages to get both of Andre’s wrists in his hands, tugging them up, pinning them above Andre’s head.

“I’m not a brat,” Andre says, petulant, playing it up.

“I’d say probably 75% of the time you’re not,” Marcus says. Andre starts to protest, but Marcus kisses him, instead, stopping anything he’d say. Andre flexes his hands, moves his arms almost involuntarily, because instinct wants him to reach out, bury his hands into Marcus’s hair. Instead, Marcus’s hands tighten on his wrists, hold his hands still, stretched out above their heads.

Andre doesn’t put up a fight and stays there, pinned, letting Marcus have control. He starts to shift, more weight and his body heavy and hot on top of Andre.

“No,” Andre vaguely hears Nicke saying. Marcus stops kissing Andre, looks up. “We agreed. He’s mine, tonight.”

“Fine,” Marcus says, and shifts back. “Next time,” he says, then lets go of Andre’s hands and sits up, running a hand through his hair. He grins at Nicke. “I do like to hold him down.”

Andre’s breath catches in his throat and he closes his eyes, swallowing hard. Nicke stands up and moves next to the bed, looking at Andre for a moment, like he’s really thinking through what he wants to do. Andre’s lips are red from Marcus kissing him, his skin beard-burn irritated.

“Get up,” Nicke finally says after a moment. “Get ready.”

That’s all Andre needs to hear. He’s up off the bed in a flash and into the bathroom, rummaging through Nicke’s toiletry bag for what he needs. He knows the drill. He gets the lube and the condoms they provide, he strips out of his clothes - and those have to be folded, because he does have to put them on to wear back to his own room. And they have to be folded, because it annoys Marcus when he doesn’t do it.

The bed isn’t really big enough for three of them, but they make it work, like they have every time before, with Andre pinned between Marcus and Nicke, his wrists caught again in Marcus’s grip, not letting him move, not letting him touch anything. His back presses against Nicke’s chest as Nicke fucks him.

NIcke fucks Andre until he’s whimpering, his head sagged down against Marcus’s shoulder, and it’s Nicke who comes first, who is still a moment before he presses a kiss to Andre’s shoulder and then pulls away. Marcus lets Andre’s wrists go then, wraps one hand around both of their cocks to jerk them off.

Andre digs his teeth into Marcus’s shoulder when he comes, ignoring Marcus’s sharp hiss of pain. It won’t be the first time Andre has left him with teeth marks. He slumps back against the headboard, head leaned back, Andre’s body slumped against his.

“You’re good,” Nicke says, leaning in and kissing Andre before flopping down on the other bed and closing his eyes.

 

 

They have Saturday morning practice, and the afternoon free. Nicke’s busy, but Marcus is going shopping and invites Andre to tag along, telling him he needs to up his game day suit game. Andre, frankly, thinks his game day suit game is fine. Sure, he’s not going to give Holtby a run for his money but he’s doing better than, say, Ovi.

He tells Marcus as much, and does not much appreciate the look he receives in return. It’s fine, though, because at least Marcus stops for coffee and doesn’t judge him when there’s an awful lot of sugar in Andre’s order. It’s not a frappuccino. It’s not like he’s Tom.

Marcus does wear better suits than Andre, and Andre has to admit that he honestly wouldn’t mind letting Marcus pick something for him. Andre follows him through the store, watching him carefully scrutinize jackets. He pulls one off the rack, looking at the sizing.

“Here,” he says. “You should try this on.” His fingers brush across Andre’s as Andre takes the hanger from his hand, and there’s a split second where they’re just standing, looking at each other, before Marcus smiles at him.

Andre realizes after Marcus has already turned away that Marcus has Andre’s suit sizing memorized, and it makes something inside him twist. HIs face feels warm as he follows Marcus, looking absently at some of the suits and letting Marcus hand him things.

“Come on,” Marcus finally says, after Andre’s hands are full, and he leads him back to the dressing area. Andre has to admit that he loves whenever they have the opportunity to do this. He loves spending time with Nicke and Marcus together, but he also likes going out with them separately, doing things like this.

He particularly likes the way Marcus watches him when he’s trying on pants.

He does end up picking a suit, standing around while he waits to have his measurements taken, because no matter how well he can find something to fit, he still needs to have parts taken in. It’s all the hockey. Makes his pants not fit right off the rack.

When he’s finally changing back into his own clothes, Marcus slips into the dressing room with him. Andre’s still standing there in his underwear as Marcus pulls him in, presses their mouths together. His hands slide down Andre’s back to grip his ass, then uses the grip to pull Andre’s hips in against his as they kiss.

Andre is really starting to get into it when Marcus pulls away, and he sighs. “Get dressed,” Marcus tells him. “We’ll go home and I’ll make dinner.”

He leaves Andre alone to dress, then takes him home.

Marcus makes dinner and won’t let Andre help, leaving Andre to sit on one of the barstools at the pass through, sipping a glass of wine he doesn’t really want. (That’s a thing Marcus is doing now, drinking wine like he’s a capital A Adult, and he doesn’t happen to have any beer on hand, which Andre finds ridiculous, because Andre is over all the time and the lack of beer makes it seem like Marcus doesn’t even love him that much. Which Andre knows is patently not true, because Marcus obviously loves him quite a lot.)

The trade off is that Andre does the dishes, or at least loads the dishwasher. They settle in on the couch for a while, until Marcus starts to doze off, slouched against the arm of the couch with his empty wine glass still in his hand. Andre sits up and moves it away, making Marcus shift and look at him, opening his eyes.

“Take me to bed,” Andre says to him, leaning down and kissing him softly.

So Marcus does.

 

By the time the game is over, Andre is high as a kite. His hand is definitely broken, and they’ve set him into a temporary cast until they can put him in the real thing, then they turn him over to Nicke with a bottle of painkillers and instructions for the next day, when they’ll have to put him in a cast for real.

“Doesn’t hurt anymore,” Andre is saying very earnestly. Marcus is babysitting him in the locker room while Nicke showers, and Nicke just shakes his head.

“That’s good,” Marcus tells him. 

“So good,” Andre says, his eyes half-lidded and very earnest.. “It hurt a lot.”

Nicke laughs, and Andre keeps chattering to Marcus while Nicke dresses, then together they wrangle him out to Nicke’s car, settling him in the front seat. Marcus leans in and kisses him on the forehead.

“Goodnight,” he says, then straightens up to speak to Nicke. “We can move his car back to his place tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Nicke says.

“‘Night,” Marcus calls as he heads toward his own car.

Nicke waves at him and then gets in. Andre seems to be half asleep, but he perks up when Nicke’s door closes.

“This is the worst birthday,” Andre says, and for a split second Nicke thinks that Andre is going to start crying, and then Nicke is going to have to jump out of the car and call Marcus back to deal with it. Nicke is not good at dealing with tears, especially not when they’re from one of his boyfriends.

“Well,” Nicke says. “Yeah. But on the bright side, you probably won’t have one worse. You’ll always look back and then say oh, hey, remember that time my hand got broken on my birthday? That really sucked.”

“We had plans,” Andre says. He is whining. It’s true, they had plans for Andre’s birthday, even though they weren’t huge plans, and now that’s shot to hell because Andre’s loopy on painkillers and has to go get his hand in a cast in the morning. 

“We’ll make it up to you,” Nicke says as they’re pulling out of the parking lot. Andre stops talking after that, because D.C. is still lit up in the night, and the drugs have made it fascinating.

Nicke finds out that it’s harder to manage drug-addled Andre on his own, once they arrive at Nicke’s house. It’s not quite as hard as the times he’s had to wrangle Andre when he’s been shitfaced drunk, but it’s still not Nicke’s favorite.

He gets Andre upstairs and onto the bed. Andre’s still wearing his suit, sans jacket, and Nicke’s not about to let him sleep in it. He takes a deep breath, runs both hands through his hair, then sits down to untie Andre’s shoes and pull them off.

“No, it’s starting to hurt again,” Andre says, when Nicke pulls him into a sitting position so he can try and get Andre out of his clothes. “I don’t feel like it.”

Andre is definitely whining, and he looks upset when Nicke starts laughing. “I love you, but I’m not trying to have sex with you right now,” Nicke says. “I’m also not going to let you sleep in your suit.”

“Nicke,” Andre says - no, he’s definitely just whining now. He does let Nicke unbutton his shirt and tug it off. HIs pants are a little bit harder, but they manage and Nicke gets Andre maneuvered into a pair of sweatpants. They must be Nicke’s or Marcus’s, because a lot of Andre’s pale, skinny ankles poke out of the bottom.

“Go to sleep,” Nicke says, and pushes Andre gently back onto the pillows, pulling the sheet up and over him.

“Are you coming to bed?” Andre asks. “I want you to come to bed.”

“I will,” Nicke says. “I’m starving, though. I’m going to get a sandwich, then I’ll be back.”

Andre nods, but he’s asleep before Nicke comes back.

In the morning, Andre is cranky because Nicke woke him up but won’t let him take any medication until he’s eaten something, and his arm hurts. They’re off to a great start, because Andre is being shitty to Nicke because of it, and even if Nicke is trying not to be shitty back, it’s not working.

By the time they get to the rink, they’re not speaking. Marcus intercepts them in the hallway, because Nicke has texted him to let him know how things are going (badly), and he walks with Andre back to meet with the medical staff before heading back for practice.

“He’s in pain and he’s in a bad mood,” Nicke explains to Marcus as they’re warming up. “So he’s being a brat, and I can only take so much.”

“It’s not helping anything for you to both be assholes to each other, though,” Marcus says. Nicke glares at him, because he knows, he really fucking knows, and Marcus saying it is irritating his already bad mood.

He takes a deep breath and huffs it out in frustration, rather than getting snippy with Marcus, which he really feels like doing. He’s in a bad mood because Andre’s in a bad mood, and he doesn’t need to drag Marcus down with them.

Andre is asleep on the couch when Nicke gets home from picking up Andre’s car. He’s picked up food as well, and cupcakes, because it was Andre’s fucking birthday, and also Nicke feels a little bit bad for getting shitty. He has a temper, he knows it, and he can’t help that. He tries.

“Hey,” he says, shaking Andre’s shoulder gently. “I brought home food, and then you can take more pills.”

“Okay,” Andre says, and sits up. Nicke pulls him up to his feet, and walks him into the kitchen to sit down at the table. Normally, he’d just bring Andre a plate on the couch, and they’d relax and watch TV, but Nicke’s not sure how that’s going to work with Andre only having one functional hand.

They eat dinner together, and Andre relays Nicke what the doctors told him about the injury, what their projected timeframe for his return is. He’s talking weeks, and Nicke knows he’s sad.

“Since it ruined your birthday, I got something for you,” Nicke says. He gets up from the table, going to get the package of cupcakes, bringing them back to Andre. “Happy Birthday,” he says.

Andre lights up. “Thank you,” he says.

Nicke leans down and kisses him. “You’re welcome.”

 

 

They try to go out for dinner at least one a week, just the two of them. It was the two of them, together, years before Andre was ever even drafted. As much as Andre is a part of them now, there were four years where there was no Andre, just the two of them.

It’s never been the hand-holdy, romantic type of relationship. First of all, Nicke isn’t that person, but all of this started from a place of comfort, of sharing a common language and living their lives out almost completely in a foreign country.

Most of their time is spent with Andre, now, either together or separately. It’s still new, something they’re still working out the kinks in. They’ve forced themselves to carve out time for themselves, and for each other, alone.

So they go to dinner.

It’s different, for the two of them. WIth Andre, it’s the two of them taking care of him, doing things for him. It’s a different dynamic, the two of them together, because they take care of each other. So they split dinner, drink too much wine, and Nicke orders dessert that Marcus makes him share.

Nicke drives them back to his place, because the cleaning service has been to Nicke’s that morning, so he knows the sheets are fresh.

What else Nicke knows is that for all the things Marcus does with Andre - dressing him up, making him dinner, holding him down while Nicke fucks him - that’s not all Marcus is, or wants. Nicke likes to be in control, and so does Marcus, but not always. It’s why they - the three of them - work so well.

Everyone gets what they need - and what they want.

They relax - Nicke propped up against the headboard, the bedroom lit blue-white by the TV. Marcus leans his head against Nicke’s hip, Nicke’s hand rests on his head, fingers threaded into Marcus’s hair.

 

 

Another night off, and Andre’s found a place he’s excited to go to. Something with fancy craft cocktails paired with small plates. It’s more upscale than what they’d normally do, but since Andre’s so enthusiastic about it, nobody’s going to argue.

In the end, it’s at least good food, and they have a good time, even if Andre does drink a little more than a pleasant buzz. It’s Marcus’s turn to pick up the tab, but there’s no bar after, just a cold walk back to the hotel. Nicke laughs and wraps his arms around Andre after he slips on a patch of ice on the sidewalk.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Andre whines at him, once Nicke’s got him balanced back on his feet. 

“Cocktails too good,” Marcus says, laughing as well. Andre gives him the finger.

“Don’t be a brat,” Nicke says, pushing Andre’s hand out of the air, pushing his finger back down into the fist.

“You like it when I’m a brat,” Andre says. Nicke looks a little startled to hear it, and Marcus laughs even harder.

“You do like it,” he says, pushing the door of the hotel open for the other two.

“You think you can walk without falling down now?” Nicke asks.

“There was ice, come on, I’m not that drunk,” Andre protests.

“You’re just a lightweight,” Marcus says.

“I’m not!” Andre presses the button for the elevator.

“Oh, you absolutely are,” Nicke says. “But there was ice.”

“Thank you!” The elevator door dings, and Andre steps inside. They follow him, and Andre leans in close to Marcus, slipping his hands under the edge of Marcus’s jacket and t-shirt, putting cold fingers on his bare skin.

“Holy shit,” Marcus says, dodging back, bumping into Nicke. Nicke laughs, wrapping his arms around Marcus. “Is your circulation okay?”

“It’s cold out,” Andre says, grinning at him.

“It’s not that cold,” Marcus says.

“It’s Canada. I slipped on ice!” Andre responds.

“Because you’re drunk,” Nicke says.

“I’m not - fuck both of you,” Andre says, and he pouts at them, actually pouts at them, and they both laugh. The elevator doors ding and open, letting them out on their floor.

“You already do,” Marcus whispers against Andre’s ear as he bumps past him and out of the elevator, and Andre blushes red all the way to his hairline.

They file into Nicke’s room, and shed their coats and shoes. “Can we order dessert from room service?” Andre asks. He hadn’t felt like it at the restaurant, but after the walk back, he thinks maybe he’s into it now. He leans against the desk and flips through the menu, as Nicke settles down on the bed, his back against the headboard.

“If you want,” Nicke says.

“I’d rather have sex,” Marcus says. He stretches out on the bed next to Nicke, and Andre actually looks torn. He wants both sex and dessert.

Andre holds the menu in his hand, chewing on his lower lip. He’s watching Marcus and Nicke - Nicke, who is looking at his phone, one leg on the floor, the other stretched out along the bed, and Marcus, stretched out on his stomach, bare feet off the end of the mattress and Nicke’s hip hiding half his face. Nicke texts with one hand, his other hand moving to slide through Marcus’s hair.

“What about after?” Andre says.

“I like that idea,” Marcus says. He props himself up on his elbows, looking over at Andre now, his hair knocked loose from it’s gel and falling over his forehead.

“Andre,” Nicke says. “Make a decision. Either call room service or take your clothes off.”

In the end, Andre decides to take his clothes off. He leaves them folded on the dresser, then returns to them in his underwear, armed with lube and condoms. Marcus sits up, sitting on the end of the bed, and Andre comes to stand there, leaning down and pressing their mouths together. Nicke watches them, still leaned against the headboard. This time its Andre’s fingers tangled in Marcus’s hair, tugging Marcus’s head back as they kiss.

Andre ends on his knees on the bed, Marcus behind him, hands on his hips, fucking Andre as Andre sucks Nicke off.

They stay tangled together on the bed after, Marcus’s arms wrapped around Andre, spooning them together.

Nicke’s the one that orders room service for all of them.


End file.
